


Keep your friends close, and your lovers closer

by un_petit_peu_de_moi



Series: Day by day [6]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, FC Barcelona, M/M, Rimming, Some angst, Some fighting, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_petit_peu_de_moi/pseuds/un_petit_peu_de_moi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were playing fine, they were playing good.</p><p>The defender had been the one to throw the first punches - first with words, then with fists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep your friends close, and your lovers closer

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, so that's my fill for a prompt I received, and yeah. I was asked for fluff, and I probably didn't deliver, so sorry.

 

The game is good, they’re playing well and Neymar was feeling it.

 

It felt good, to have the Camp Nou singing and cheering for them, supporting them, accompanying their attack, protecting them from fouls. Leo had scored, and he’d lost count on how many times he’d hugged him already; of how many times he’d hugged everyone really, lost himself in a bundle of joy and ecstasy.

 

Yet there was one annoying thing, _one_ annoying thing, that pissed Neymar off despite their lead, and that was the goddamn defender who was marking him.

 

Now, Neymar had nothing against being marked. It was necessary, and if there weren’t defenders, he would never be able to dribble past them, and that would be truly sad. But this particular defender was getting on his nerves.

 

He’d lost count of that too: the number of time this time the guy had bugged him, and the number of time he had bit back _'puta'_.

 

It was somehow common, insults between players, but this one was just—

 

“You like going down girlie? You go down so easily, I’m wondering if you’re not a faggot,” the guy whispered in his ear, and Neymar headbutted him slightly as he stood up, annoyed, grabbing his shirt.

 

He immediately got stopped by Jordi, who pushed him back as he shamelessly told the guy to go suck his mom’s dick. “Calm down, it’s not worth it”, Jordi told him lowly, a hand on his nape, giving him a quick hug before running back to his position.

 

Neymar was fuming, and when they scored next, he smirked at the guy, “Where were you? While you were gone we scored”, and Neymar was annoyed alright, but this guy was pissed off too, and that was enough to satisfy him.

 

The asshole wasn’t deterred for long, going back at him, fouling him, and then telling him he was a little girl and a faggot for falling, even though – what the hell was he supposed to do when both his legs were taken out from under him?! His fouls kept Neymar from going near the goal, but the team was winning anyway; so frustrating as it was, he tried to keep his cool as much as he could (which wasn’t much at all).

 

Leo had told him at half-time not to get angry, to rein himself in. Neymar loved the concept, he really did, but he just couldn’t, and he kept exchanging words with the guy, kept on being rough. Leo glanced at them worriedly every now and then, and Neymar knew he feared he would lash out.

 

The whistle was blown eventually, and Neymar thought he was finally free to forget this jerk and just celebrate the win with his team – and he was already celebrating it, smiling at Leo as he walked towards him.

 

His defender’s ugly face got in the way.

 

“Where were _you_ lassie? You were so transparent during this game, I felt like I was watching the Brazil-Germany match at the world cup.”

 

Neymar glared at him but he controlled himself and just pushed the guy out of his way so he could keep walking. He could see Leo, all the way at the other end of the field, stopped by a player from the opposite team asking from his jersey. Leo seemed distracted though, his eyes barely leaving them.

 

“At least, I was at the world cup. Where were you? Can’t say I ever heard of you before,” Neymar smirked, mustering all the cockiness he had to look at that guy and make him understand he was nothing and meant nothing in Neymar’s world.

 

The dude snarled and put himself back on Neymar’s path, grabbing his shirt with clenched fists and sneering, “You’re so fucking _useless_ ; your team would have been better off if you had been paralyzed in the world cup”.

 

Neymar’s eyes widened, because up until now, no defenders had ever—

 

He pushed the guy roughly, shouting at him, but the defender held tight on his shirt, and he retaliated, pushing him back. Neymar saw his fist rise, and just had the time to flinch before it met his face. It smashed into his cheek, and Neymar stumbled back, his head spinning.

 

But the guy didn’t stop, pushing him again as he stumbled and making him fall down. He followed him on the ground too, straddling his hips, grabbing his shirt in one hand. He pulled his fist again, and thank god for adrenalin – Neymar forgot his spinning head and tried to push him back, tried to hit him too, but he ended up mostly protecting himself from the punches with his forearms. The defender’s fingers were digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he held him, piercing his skin and drawing blood.

 

Neymar’s was protecting himself with one arm, pushing his assailant back with the other, all the while shouting and cursing. Neymar wasn’t especially good at fighting. He’d never been taught how to fight, and he was _way_ lighter than this 6’3’’ something defender.

 

Neymar could hear the Camp Nou, shouting, roaring, defending him. It gave him strength, empowered him, but he still could do no more than protect himself instead of fighting back. He didn’t want to break his face, didn’t want to be injured, didn’t want to miss a game because of a raging asshole.

 

Someone ripped the guy off of him, pulling him back violently, and as said asshole’s fingers had been dug into his shoulders, bits of his skin were torn off in the process.

 

The defender stumbled back on his feet, and he looked so damn angry, like a bull. But there was also Leo at his side, holding his arms, and he looked damn angry too. The guy pushed Leo to the side, to come back at him but Leo didn’t budge. He put himself in between them and grabbed a fistful of the guy’s shirt, shouting at him as he tried to intimidate a dude two heads taller than him.

 

Leo had been so far away on the other end of the pitch, and he never involved himself in fight, never did more than defusing them, but now he was head to head with this angry defender, and they were both snarling in each other’s face. Leo wasn’t defending Neymar so much as he was protecting him right now, and Neymar didn’t have the time to mull it over before several person swarmed in the scene.

 

All of this had actually happened so fast, and now there were people; some trying to end the fight, others wanting to amplify it. Some guys went to him, to check if he was fine, but Neymar only watched what was happening in front of him. There was Gerard’s tall head above the melee, and he knew that where Gerard was, Leo wasn’t far away, and Geri would protect Leo too, if needed.

 

Some meds came in to see if he was fine. They filled his vision, and Neymar could only hear Camp Nou’s loud indignation. The medics checked on him, but Neymar was fine, he knew he was fine, and he got up.

 

A few players from the rival team went to him, trying to apologize on behalf of their teammates, but Neymar didn’t care. He wasn’t blaming them, and he could see now, the guy being pulled away by his team, still raging, and he looked straight at Neymar and smirked, mouthing _‘faggot’_ , and then did some weird gestures.

 

Neymar frowned, confused as the guy bent his back strangely in his teammates’ hold, putting his hand behind his back, and smirked, and Neymar understood, he fucking understood, that _motherfucking asshole_.

 

Neymar was pissed, tempestuous, and he shook off everyone that was around him, stomping off towards the locker room with rage. Rage, and something that wasn’t rage, something that was definitely closer to his heart, and that made his hands shake.

 

He tasted blood on his lips, and there was a stinging pain in his shoulders and in his forearms but he glared at the coach when he told the medics to take care of him, glared at anyone trying to approach him. He had to give in, ultimately, and let himself get taken away to the infirmary.

 

They did several exams and didn’t find any injury, no concussion, no broken member, and Neymar was glad, because if he had sustained a long-term injury because of this guy, he would have—

 

Anyway, the medics tried to take care of his minor injuries, but Neymar was done. He glared at them and left, not waiting for permission. He went to the locker-room and everyone was already gone. Neymar was glad for that, because he didn’t want to dampen the team’s joy, because they _had_ won, even though Neymar had played no part in it.

 

“ _your team would have been better off if you had been paralyzed in the world cup_ ”

 

Neymar’s hands were shaking as he changed quickly, equal parts angry and dreading, equal parts murderous and scared. He tried to be as quick as possible, tried not to wince when he moved, adrenalin still pumping and keeping him from feeling the ache in his legs – the ache from running and from falling (way too much, way too many times).

 

His phone was buzzing constantly but Neymar ignored it, driving his car back home. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because his arms and his legs hurt, and the way back to his place had never seemed so long. He got to his house anyway and he only wanted one thing: to crawl under his cover and forget _those_ words, drown his anger ( _and_ _anguish_ ) in sleep.

 

Except, as he climbed out of his car, he realized there was another car there, a car he knew all too well for it belonged to one Lionel Messi. One Lionel Messi who was sitting on his porch, phone in hand, waiting.

 

Leo got up, burying his hands in his pockets as Neymar approached him.

 

Neymar didn’t really want Leo to be here, not today. Not when Barça had just won thanks to him, not when he had scored two amazing goals and deserved to be celebrating and laughing. Neymar wasn’t celebrating and he wasn’t laughing, and Leo was always feeling _so bad_ about losses – he didn’t want to take wins away from him.

 

“You should go back home”, he mumbled to Leo, stopping just in front of him.

 

There was a gentle touch on his face and Neymar raised his head to meet Leo’s eyes. He was probing his cheekbone carefully, where Neymar knew he had a bruise. Leo frowned.

 

“Didn’t the medical team take care of you?”

 

“Everything’s fine.” Under Leo’s pointed stare, he admitted, “I told them off.”

 

Leo shook his head disapprovingly, pulling gently on a strand of hair, and he took a step back, clearly indicating to Neymar he wanted him to let him inside.

 

Sighing, Neymar opened the door, and found himself a bit disappointed when there was no ball of fur barreling into his legs. His dad had taken Poker with him on a short trip, and Neymar thought it would have been nice right now, to run his hand through his dog’s soft fur.

 

Marc said dogs only loved one thing and it was their master, and that the only thing they wanted was for their master to be happy. Marc told him a lot of things about dogs and how wonderful they were, and in this moment, Neymar got the urge to see Poker, because Poker loved him, and he would never wish for him to be hurt.

 

“ _better off if you have been paralyzed_ ”

 

Poker wouldn’t wish for him to be in a wheelchair either.

 

He sighed, and felt a pull on his jacket. Leo smiled nicely at him, but his eyes were attentive, studying his face and expressions like a hawk.

 

“Come on, I’ll take care of it then, if you’re going to be a baby about it.”

 

Leo was being playful, to cheer him up, and Neymar snorted. He didn’t protest when Leo dragged him all the way up to the bathroom.

 

He wasn’t angry at Leo, never, and Leo was safe anyway. Still, Neymar’s hand was trembling a bit in Leo’s one, and there was no way Leo didn’t notice, but he didn’t say anything about it.

 

Once in the bathroom, Leo started rummaging through his stuff, until he found his first-aid kit. Then, he turned to him, gesturing to his clothes.

 

“Strip now.”

 

Neymar threw him a petulant glare but he obeyed anyway. He didn’t really want to go against Leo, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted Leo to reassure him, to make him feel fine, and not angry and emotional. He needed Leo to help him sort out this bundle of repressed rage and silenced fears inside his head.

 

 

“You should have taken me to the bedroom if you wanted me to strip,” he said, discarding his shirt on the floor.

 

Leo raised an eyebrow but chose not to answer, and instead gestured to the bathtub. Neymar sat down on the edge, and looked up at Leo, waiting.

 

Leo took a few seconds to observe him, his eyes going from his cheek to his stomach, before they fixed back on his face. He took some steps towards him, until he was a few inches close, and Neymar had to crane his neck up to look at him.

 

Leo lifted a hand, and pressed it gently against his face. He caressed his cheekbone with his thumb, gently, letting it swipe over his bruised lip. He traced his eyebrows, brushing over his eyes, his nose, his chin. Leo used both hand to feel behind his head, his nape, gently pressing, either checking for injury or massaging, Neymar couldn’t tell.

 

Neymar was staring up at Leo as he cradled his head, and he watched Leo’s eyes as they swept over his face and followed the path of his own fingers.

 

“Why are you shaking like that?” he whispered, in a low-voice, still not looking at Neymar’s directly, still touching his head all over.

 

Neymar shrugged, “The adrenalin.” It was lie, and he didn’t try very hard to make it seem differently.

 

It still prompted Leo to stop his caresses, and he went to the little box he’d dug out. He took some disinfectant and applied it gently against his face to take care of the bruise on his cheek, and the one on his eyebrows. He was very gentle as he worked, concentrated on what he was doing.

 

Neymar felt good, better. Leo was safe, always. Watching Leo’s face now, focused on his task, he remembered Leo’s face _then_ , as he pushed the guy off of him and defended him. He’d looked angry, and Neymar could count the number of time he’d seen Leo angry on one hand.

 

Actually, most of the time he saw Leo angry, it was at himself, rarely if ever at others. But Leo had been angry on his behalf, he had _protected_ him. Neymar didn’t need protection, he’d never needed it in anyway, and yet Leo had been angry for him and that felt safe.

 

Leo, who was small and who didn’t fight people any more than Neymar did.

 

That was stupid. Leo was maybe stronger than him, but he was little, and he meant nothing when compared to the 6’3’’ defender. Additionally, Neymar hadn’t felt endangered at the time, he hadn’t felt like he needed saving. He had only felt anger.

 

(Anger, and maybe dread, because if the guy was talking about _it_ so freely, what was stopping him from doing it to him?)

 

“That was a bit risqué”, Neymar said, fighting against the urge to whisper, “to go against the guy like that. If the game hadn’t ended, you could have been booked for that.”

 

 _(‘and you could have been hurt too’_ , he didn’t say.)

 

Leo seemed to have ended taking care of his face, and he looked him straight in the eyes, snorting.

 

“That would have been quite ironic, as I was only keeping him off of you” _(that wasn’t true, he was doing more than simply keeping the guy off of him, more than simply protecting Neymar too. He’d been angry, and he wasn’t going against the guy for Neymar’s sake only)_ “And he’s probably going to get in trouble for what he did.”

 

“But you never know with referees. He might have given you a yellow card nonetheless.”

 

Leo’s lips twitched as he looked down at him, “No, I wouldn’t have been booked. Gerard would have been the one to receive a yellow card, not me.”

 

Neymar let out a surprised laughter, “You’re probably right.” and he laughed again.

 

Leo put a hand on his nape to bend his neck, leaning down to check his back for any injury. There were none, and he let him go, instead spreading his thighs apart and falling on his knees between them, so that he was level with his torso. He passed his hand over his chest, just the tips of his fingers, even though Neymar didn’t have any injury there. He still shivered under the touch, clenched his hand a bit over the edge of the bathtub when the fingers glossed over his nipples.

 

“I’m hardly injured there.”

 

Leo shook his head, “Have to be thorough.” he said, smiling up at him.

 

Then Leo took hold of his forearm and well. His arms were a bit of another story. Nothing was broken – _thankfully_ – but there were some bruises there, big blue things forming on his arms, visible despite the darkness of his skin. Leo felt around it delicately, but it was enough for Neymar to flinch, trying to draw his arm back to himself.

 

“Sorry.” Leo said, and he took his arms back from him. He handled it with care, applying some kind of ointment, “that’s why you should have let the medics help you.”

 

“That would have hurt anyway.”

 

Leo freed his arms, and he moved on to his shoulders. His shoulders had been a stinging pain since the start. He knew he was bleeding, and that bits of his flesh were raw. For all that this defender had told him he was a sissie, he still did damage scratching him, and Neymar wanted to snort at the irony of it all.

 

It hurt like a bitch too.

 

Focused on his shoulders, Leo frowned, seeming to consider his words for a moment. Then, he nodded rather solemnly, “you’re right, you can’t stand pain much after all.”

 

Leo treated his shoulders carefully, and the disinfectant was stinging. Neymar did his best not to flinch.

 

It was true, Neymar didn’t like pain, but then again nobody did, and that didn’t make him soft.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Leo didn’t even look at him as he answered, “That you’re very soft. Look, preparing you for sex always takes _so much_ time, because you’re a big baby when it comes to pain.”

 

Neymar gasped. The number one reason fingering took so much time was because _Leo_ wanted it to take time, and Neymar had grown pretty used to the whole penetration thing anyway.

 

“That’s cheeky”, he muttered, biting the inside of his cheeks not to laugh (because it was funny, damn it) and he pulled on Leo’s hairs. Leo looked up at him, smiling.

 

He seemed to be done with his shoulders, because he put his stuff away, and brought his arms around his torso in a loose embrace. Neymar was still pulling on his hairs, and Leo let himself be pulled, until his nose reached his skin, and he placed a kiss there, on the middle of his chest.

 

That prompted Neymar into pulling the hairs on his nape instead, forcing Leo’s head up, so Neymar could lean down and kiss him. His lips were split, and it ached a bit, so Leo didn’t linger here too much, kissing the corner of his mouth instead, and then descending upon his neck. His lips reached his shoulders, and he placed a soft kiss there, on the Band-Aid he’d freshly applied.

 

Once Leo was done nosing at his neck, he went further down, kissing his way to his stomach, nibbling on his nipple. Neymar stopped pulling his hair, and just wrapped his arms around Leo’s head, holding him against him as he shivered from the cold and from Leo’s touch.

 

Leo stopped his journey down his chest when he reached his navel, and he tightened his hold on him, pressing his head against his stomach as he hugged him.

 

Some seconds passed like that, until Leo said, in a clear voice despite being trapped by his arms, “Why are you shaking, Ney.”

 

His heart was beating a bit fast, and he whispered “I’m cold,” not really wanting Leo to hear, because it was a pitiful excuse and he knew it.

 

Leo huffed, and scooted back, so he could look at him, resting his arms on his thighs instead of hugging him, “What happened with that defender?”

 

“The usual. He insults me, I insult him.”

 

“You dribble past him to annoy him, he fouls you.”

 

Neymar smiled, “Yeah, that too.”

 

Leo was smiling a bit, but he was also giving him a very pointed look. Neymar sighed.

 

“For real, that’s how it started. And the more he annoyed me, the more I annoyed him. But the guy – he kept fouling me you know? He’d trip me, and then when I fell he’d tell me I’m a girl for falling. Or that I’m a fag because I keep on going down”

 

Neymar thought back on his words and smirked, “Well I mean, I _do_ go down on you. But he can’t now that.” He continued, more seriously, “Still, he accused me of diving even though _he_ made me fall on purpose. And he said I was useless because I didn’t do things I couldn’t do because _he was fouling me._ ”

 

Thinking about it only made Neymar angrier, because he hated when people kept him from playing. When he didn’t start, when he was taken off, when he was injured, when he was fouled. He hated that, and he hated the guy for keeping him from playing.

 

He didn’t want to be so serious though, and he put a solemn hand on Leo’s shoulder, “Have faith though, I let him know he was quite useless too.”

 

“I’m not worried about that.” Leo answered, not smiling one bit, just looking straight at him and waiting for him to continue.

 

Neymar almost muttered _‘spoilsport’_ , but instead he sighed and resumed talking.

 

“Well, not much after that. He talked a bit about the World Cup to get a rise out of me, talking about me being useless”, Neymar snorted, “Which was fucking stupid; I wasn’t even playing.”

 

Neymar fiddled with his own fingers, looking down. The truth was, he had hated the fact he wasn’t able to be there in the semi-finals, because he should have been. He wished he hadn’t been sitting uselessly on the sidelines – because he _had_ felt useless – but that’s how it was, and there was no point thinking things over when it was already done. That Neymar wasn’t a defender, that he knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep Brazil from losing 7 to 1, that he would have been useless had he played – all of these thoughts, the defender couldn’t know.

 

“Then he said it would have been better if I had been paralyzed in the World Cup.” He whispered, unable to say it loudly, unwilling to say to the world what it implied, what his reaction to _this_ implied. He whispered, because it was his secret, his shame.

 

Leo didn’t say anything. Neymar waited some seconds, before glancing up at his face. Leo was staring straight at him and frowning deeply. His hands had been hooked in the fabric of his jeans, and there were now fisted there. He opened his mouth, and Neymar didn’t know what Leo wanted to say, but he wasn’t done talking.

 

“You know”, and Leo closed his mouth to let him talk, “You know, every time I’m tackled from behind, every time I take a hit from the back, every time something happen behind me and I can’t see, every time I fall on my back and it hurts, every time I— Every time, only for a moment, a _ridiculously short_ second, not _even_ a second, but still for a moment; I freak out. There’s always this second where I’m just scared shitless because—Because it could have been bad, and I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t play football, I don’t know anything else, I’ve never-”

 

He stopped himself there, and he was shaking now, trembling because he hated thinking about the past, it was so _pointless_. And yet he was haunted by this moment, that hadn’t meant anything in the end, that hadn’t been terrible after all, but it was still always there, in the back of his mind, when he fell, and Neymar had no way of making it stop. And the guy— the guy had fouled him so much, and he’d fell _so many times_.

 

Leo rose on his knees, putting an arm around him and bringing a hand up to craddle the side of his face, gently.

 

“It’s fine to be scared, Neymar. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 

“There _is_ something wrong with that, with me. _Fuck_ , that’s annoying. I know— People already say I’m diving, but if I keep on being scared of taking hits because I don’t want to be hurt, I just fall, and— I try to do it like you, to stay up, to stumble but keep running, I really do, but I _can’t._ I can’t stop myself from falling, and ever since then it’s even worse because for an irrational moment I’m scared, and even if that’s just a moment, that’s enough to shut myself down.”

 

Leo cradled his head with both hands, moving the tips of his fingers against his scalp to massage it, nonetheless holding his head firmly so Neymar couldn’t look away from him.

 

“Nobody is faulting you for falling to the ground when you lose your balance. People who say you’re diving are—”

 

Neymar cut him off with an annoyed noise, “I don’t care what people think, I just want _you_ to know.”

 

Neymar thought it might have been why he was so honest right now, telling Leo all about his post-injury fears. He probably was trying to justify himself, to tell Leo _‘look, I’m not good at it, but I have my reasons’_ , even if those reasons were stupid as fuck. But he didn’t want Leo to look down at him for losing his cool, didn’t want him to think less of him because he wasn’t steady on his feet. He didn’t want Leo to be angry at him, or worse.

 

He didn’t want Leo to be disappointed in him.

 

After a moment, Leo huffed, and that took Neymar by surprise. There was a small smile at the corner of Leo’s mouth, and he said “You’re like a child, all spoiled and petulant.”

 

Neymar frowned, his heart beating fast because that wasn’t the answer he had expected, “I’m not a child.” He bit back, more a reflex than an elaborate answer.

 

Leo lowered his head, and he whispered against his lips, “I know.” He pressed their lips gently together, and then he said it again, “I know”, and Neymar didn’t know exactly what statement he was answering, but Leo was also kissing him really gently so as to not hurt him further, and some of his fingers were toying with his earring a bit, and Neymar thought it was fine either way.

 

Leo licked his lips gently, lapped at the part of his lips that were split, and Neymar stick the tip of his tongue out, to capture Leo’s tongue in his mouth and kiss him anew.

 

One of Leo’s hands went on his thigh, rubbing it through the fabric of his jeans. Leo forced his head up and on the side with his other hand, allowing him to go down his neck, kissing and sucking. Neymar fisted a hand in Leo’s hair as Leo traveled down, stopping on his nipple and taking it in his mouth. He nibbled on it gently and Neymar let out a soft moan, and a deep sigh as the hand caressing his thigh was coming closer to his crotch.

 

Leo let go of his nipple, placed a kiss upon it and moved back. Neymar repressed a whine, suddenly cold. Leo didn’t go very far anyway, not with Neymar’s hand clenched in his hair like that.

 

Leo nudged his leg, “Take your clothes off, come on.” He pulled on the fabric of his pants a bit, and Neymar knew they were loose enough that they’d go if he pulled too hard, so he let go of Leo’s hair and got up. He shimmied out of his pants, and took off his shoes and his socks.

 

That was nice, being barefooted, because the carpet of his bathroom was soft and mellow, and Neymar dug his toes into it.

 

Leo began pulling the elastic band of his boxer down, and Neymar caught his hands before more than his pubes were revealed. He squinted, looking down at Leo.

 

Leo looked up at him innocently, “I have to make sure you’re not hurt anywhere.”

 

Leo looked really genuine, really, and Neymar would almost believe him. Except he didn’t, and he let go of Leo’s hand, let him pull his underwear down.

 

Leo nudged his knees, and Neymar sat back down, butt naked on the bathtub, the cold ceramic hard against his skin. Leo shifted back between his knees, splaying one hand on his torso, while he pushed on his knees to spread it wider. He kissed his thigh, and left a trail of sloppy kisses all the way to his crotch. He stopped before reaching his dick, and Neymar was already half-hard from his previous touches.

 

The hand on his stomach took hold of his cock, and Neymar couldn’t repress a soft _‘ah’_. Leo’s mouth went back to his nipple, sucking on it again, while stroking him lazily to full hardness.

 

Neymar hooked his hand back into Leo’s hair, clutching the bathtub with his other hand. There was a hand on his hips, holding it firmly so Neymar couldn’t move.

 

With Leo’s hands on his dick and Leo’s mouth on his nipple, it wasn’t long before Neymar had a full-blown boner, with the accompanying desperation and rush. Leo was still lazily stroking him, fondling his balls from time to time, passing his thumb over the slit some other times.

 

Leo moved his head back, and his hand left his dick, sliding until it was on his inner thigh, pressing so Neymar would spread his thigh even _wider_ apart. Neymar huffed but he let himself be opened, not able to resist Leo’s insistent palm on his thigh.

 

Leo sat back on his haunches, lowering his head to his thigh again, biting on it gently. He placed a kiss on his shaft too, and was rewarded with a moan.

 

Leo kept on placing small kisses against his shaft, random press of his lips against the head or the base, teasing touches, and Neymar’s breath was already hitching. Leo’s eyes were half lidded, and he glanced up often, unabashedly, and he always made sure to let his tongue poke his shaft when he did, just so he could watch him moan in response, and Neymar hated him for that, but also, he never wanted Leo to stop watching him and touching him.

 

Leo was holding his thigh with one hand, and as seconds passed and Neymar was tensing up and twitching, Leo’s grip was getting firmer. He finally took hold of his dick, guiding the head to his mouth and letting it slide in. Neymar moaned, watching as Leo bobbed his head down; and Leo was watching him too.

 

They were staring at each other, and once Leo had taken his whole cock in, his nose pressed in his pubes, he pressed his hand against his balls, and Neymar moaned shakily.

 

He was still gripping Leo’s hair, hadn’t really let them go for some time now, and he was clutching the bathtub with his other hand. It was starting to slip, Neymar losing his hold on the edge as his palm was sweaty and he had a hard time hanging on.

 

Leo began bobbing his head, moving up and down on his cock, and as he moaned, Neymar made the instant decision that Leo’s head was the best lifeline he had. He wrapped both his arms around Leo’s head, letting go of his hair so he could better encase Leo in his hold. Doing so, Neymar had to hunch over, bend a bit so he could trap Leo against him, his thigh closing on Leo as he curled around him, Leo’s head almost against his stomach.

 

Being trapped didn’t deter Leo, and he moved his head in Neymar’s hold. Neymar tried to keep a loose hold on Leo’s head, to allow him movement, but every time Leo let his tongue press against his shaft, his whole body tensed and curled up even more.

 

Leo wasn’t showing to be particularly pressed, willingly taking him deep and sensual, but doing everything slowly, almost lazily.

 

Leo sneaked a hand around his body, his warm fingers brushing against his spine. The fingers rubbed down, caressing his spine softly, making Neymar shiver. Leo’s fingers trailed down even more, reaching his ass-crack, traveling down it and brushing against his entrance, just a fluttering touch.

 

“ _Ah_ , I’m definitely _not_ hurt there”, Leo let his fingernails scrape against his hole and Neymar moaned, “ _Leo_.”

 

Leo hummed around his dick, visibly not interested in the very good point he was making, but his fingers didn’t stay long in the area, caressing back up his spine softly. Neymar dug his toes in the soft carpet, trying to breathe as normally as possible through the shaky whimpers that left his mouth.

 

The bathtub was hard and steel-like against his thigh, digging painfully into his flesh. Leo’s fingers were soft, tracing lazy circles on his spine, just like his head was bobbing lazily on his dick, and even the tongue he sometimes curled around his shaft was lazy. Neymar on the other hand, was a shivering mess, moaning Leo’s name and beginning to shake ( _again_ , but those quivers he didn’t mind).

 

His thighs were getting warm and sweaty too, and yet, the bathtub still felt cold against his skin.

 

Leo let his dick slip out of his mouth, moving his head a few inches back to look up at him. Neymar straightened a bit so Leo could look up at him properly.

 

“Doesn’t that hurt, the bathtub?” he asked, voice hoarse from sucking, and Neymar suppressed a moan as he felt Leo’s breath blow on his dick.

 

“No, it’s fine,” which was kind of a lie, but Neymar didn’t really care, he _felt_ fine anyway.

 

Leo frowned and moved back and Neymar had no choice but to completely let go of his head. Leo scooted back on the carpet, and pulled on his leg a bit, motioning for him to get up, and Neymar did so with a groan.

 

“Seriously it’s fine,” he muttered. He didn’t mind the bathtub that much if that meant Leo stopped touching him.

 

“Yeah, sure. Turn over.” Leo tried to move his legs himself, and with a sigh, Neymar turned over.

 

He sunk to his knees immediately, falling on the soft carpet, and _damn_ , did he love that mellow carpet. He bent over, falling on his forearms as Leo’s hand carefully went on the back of his thigh, caressing and massaging the part that had been made painful by the cold material of the bathtub.

 

“ _Liar_ ”, Leo mumbled under his breath, so quiet Neymar barely heard it.

 

Neymar felt warm lips press against his tender skin too, while Leo’s hands were still caressing up and down on his thighs, sometimes going to his calves. Leo straightened up and his hands went to his back, his palms passing over his sides and going back down sliding on his spine. Ultimately, they reached his ass, and Leo rubbed his palms on it several times, squeezing a bit in passing.

 

Neymar’s head was down, and while his dick was aching and he felt desperate for Leo to touch him again, he use this time to catch his breath, panting, his breath nonetheless itching when Leo’s thumb brushed over his asshole.

 

Leo’s hands went back to his thighs, and the next thing Neymar felt was Leo’s breath ghosting over his hole. That made him whine, clutching the carpet – _god_ , he felt like he knew where this was going.

 

Leo kissed his butt-cheeks, then the crack in between them, going down, until he kissed the base of his balls too, and Neymar whined again. When the tip of Leo’s tongue poked his hole, he moaned. Leo pecked it too, and took hold hold of one of his butt cheeks, spreading it apart with his thumb.

 

He poked him again with his tongue, except this time he went further, and lapped his entrance too, just once, then kissed it.

 

Holding himself on his elbows was too much work, and when Leo repeated the action, Neymar let his front drop completely, let the soft carpet cushion his head and let it muffle his moans.

 

Leo pressed his tongue down, not quite pushing it in, just forcing the barrier, holding on Neymar’s thigh to keep him from moving back into him. He retracted his tongue to peck him once more, and alternated between gentle press and teasing kisses for a whole minute after that, ignoring the soft pleading whimpers that left Neymar’s mouth.

 

When he decided to really push his tongue in, Neymar moaned, deep and long, closing his eyes as he felt Leo move his tongue inside. Leo moved back again, and pressed his thumb gently against his hole until it pushed in slowly. He moved it a bit, in and out, before drawing it out and replacing it with his tongue again.

 

It was warm and moist, and not enough, not big enough, not deep enough, but still it felt so _good_ , and Neymar couldn’t help clenching around it, his dick aching against his stomach.

 

Leo fucked him with his tongue, nicely and slowly, making Neymar quiver and moan. He muffled his voice in the carpet, little _‘ah’_ that never saw the light. There was some saliva starting to drip off his ass, a tiny trail that Neymar felt trickle down his ass and reach his thigh.

 

Leo replaced his tongue with his finger from time to time, reaching deep, pressing inside on his prostate, before he pressed his mouth against him again, sensually kissing and licking and fucking.

 

Neymar couldn’t really keep his hips from moving back, because Leo’s mouth against him felt good, and he was so hard. His dick was painful against his stomach, raw, and his bangs stuck to his head as he sweated. Leo sneaked a hand around his body, and gripped his dick, eliciting a moan from Neymar.

 

Neymar had mixed feelings though, when Leo’s mouth left his ass and he placed a trail of kisses on his spine instead. Was it either the ass or the cock? Couldn’t he have both?

 

Leo’s second hand left his butt to caress his sides, caress his whole back as Leo kissed his spine.

 

He was jerking him off, steady and strong, and he whispered against his skin, “Idiot, you’re an idiot,” he bit down on his flesh, playfully, just the hint of teeth against his skin, “What made you think I wouldn’t run to help you?” he turned his hand wickedly on his shaft, gripping harder and the carpet wasn’t doing much to muffle Neymar’s voice now, “What made you think I would have cared about receiving a yellow card?”

 

Leo straightened, so his hand could caress the whole expanse of his back, while he was still stroking his dick, making Neymar twitch and writhe under him.

 

He let his fingers trail against his spine, pressing down when they reached his coccyx, “Why would you be ashamed of your fears?” his hand brushed down, until it reached his ass and he pushed a finger in, Neymar pushing back against it immediately, “He isn’t going to be let free easily, he shouldn’t have attacked you on the field,” he pushed a second finger in, “He shouldn’t have said those things to you, he shouldn’t have hit you, and he doesn’t have any right to trouble you with his words.”

 

Leo molded his whole body against his back, reaching his neck, and he murmured again, “I know you’re doing your best; you don’t have to prove anything to me. I’m not ashamed of you. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself.”

 

“ _Ah_ , I’m not ashamed”, Neymar managed to say in between moans, and that wasn’t true: he was, but he was also ashamed of being ashamed, “I’m wonderful”, he moaned again, hunching his back, fisting his hand in the carpet as Leo kept on doing wicked things with his fingers, “I’m _amazing._ ”

 

“Yes, you are”, Leo said against his skin, and Neymar’s whole body trembled, because _fuck_ , that wasn’t what how he thought Leo would act – from protecting him to helping him to saying _these things;_ it wasn’t what he’d thought would happen, and it made him want to cry.

 

“Shut up, _shut up_ ”, he chanted, and maybe he wasn’t really articulate with Leo’s fingers making a mess out of him like that, but he didn’t want to be emotional, didn’t want to _cry_ for stupid things, for being glad Leo wasn’t judging him for having fears or for falling – for _failing_ , because crying for that would be stupid; that would so stupid, and Leo was so nice, so _fucking_ nice.

 

Leo spread his fingers inside, moving them fast and dirty as he pressed kisses on his nape and on his shoulders, his hand stroking his dick faster.

 

“Come for me Ney.” His hand was steady and firm, and Neymar did feel like coming, like letting go. He could taste his orgasm already, “Come on Ney, I’ll make you feel good.”

 

Neymar tensed and he came, all over his own stomach, his back arching against Leo’s fingers as he chanted Leo’s name. He cried as he came, tears leaving his eyes, and he’d pretend it was only the intensity of his orgasm if Leo asked him later, but he knew Leo wouldn’t ask.

 

Leo let go of him, drawing his fingers out, placing soft kisses against his spine as he straightened up, and Neymar was just panting, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to keep his labored breaths from becoming sobs.

 

He felt Leo pull lightly on his leg, and he let himself be pulled until he was fully lying on the carpet, without opening his eyes or unclenching his fists. He felt Leo settle next to him, lying down, and there was a hand in his hair, petting him gently.

 

He opened his eyes, and Leo was smiling nicely at him, and _goddamn_ because Neymar loved the guy, he fucking loved Leo. Leo let his hand rest in front of his face on the carpet, and Neymar nuzzled it, laying his head down on the palm.

 

He raised a hand to brush his tears off, and then wriggled closer to Leo, weakly smiling up at him.

 

“You’re an awful nurse,” he sniffled a bit, “I want a refund.”

 

“Hey”, Leo pinched his side teasingly, “That’s not nice; I did what I could.”

 

Neymar sniffled some more, brushing some left over tears again, “Would you rather I told you you’re a really good doctor?”

 

Leo nodded, grinning.

 

“Well, you’re a really good doctor. The last doctor I saw made a valiant effort, but he wasn’t quite that good at prostate checking. But the doctor before that, _man_ , that was something else.”

 

Leo laughed, “You’re always ruining it.”

 

“Well, if I thought _you_ made a good doctor – as compared to every doctor I ever had – that would mean all the doctors who have taken care of me were, in fact, _fucking_ me, wouldn’t it?”

 

Leo frowned, “You’re always ruining it”, he repeated, and Neymar grinned fully and cheekily, laughing at Leo’s disenchantment.

 

He almost said _‘you love me anyway’_ , but there had been enough emotions for today. Instead, he nuzzled Leo’s hand again, scooting even closer.

 

“For real though”, he added as an after-thought, “My second to last doctor was _really good_ at prostate checking.”

 

Retrospectively, he probably deserved to be limping for the rest of the day.

 

(But even when Leo fucked hard, he fucked _nice_ , and Neymar was mad – he was _mad_ , he was _in love_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Neymar's too young to have had his prostate checked, but you know, shitlords.
> 
> Also, the prompt I received was for Neymar to get into a fight, for Leo to defend him and then for Leo to take care of his minor injuries. And the whole thing had to be fluffy. I'm a really good prompt-filler aren't I. (Like really, sorry, I tried).
> 
> Anyway, see you another day!


End file.
